


In Uthenera Na Revas

by autchichi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: POV Solas, Uthenera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 01:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16713883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autchichi/pseuds/autchichi
Summary: Solas learns of what he has created.





	In Uthenera Na Revas

Air.

It caught in his throat and filled his lungs, choking him in its grasp. He lay in silence save for the first few gasping breaths he breathed in millenia. Stale and sharp it burned his lungs like fire, thrumming through his chest.

For a time he lay as he had, spirit settling into his body, last wisping ties to the Fade detaching. Feeling returned bit by bit, the caress of a draft, the shift of dust, the cold stone pressing into his back.

When he opened his eyes, the mute world brought a dawning feeling of fear. He rose, eyes peering through the darkness, adjusting to being used after so long. His breathing would not calm, nor would his heart, as his mind tried to connect to his physical body.

The first contact of his foot upon the floor sent a shock through his leg. His toes pressed into it firmly, the sensation so foreign yet oddly familiar.

Another step and he released himself from the tomb, standing alone in the darkness.

Glyphs hummed around the room, faintly glowing around the edges. Wards were left around the room by passing followers or pilgrims, those that sought to protect his sleeping form. The familiarity of the magic soothed the tension that held his muscles taut.

His first few steps were shaky and cautious. His palm held firmly against the wall as he progressed forward. Life began to flow through his body bit by bit and the warmth of blood rushed through his veins.

Yet, the sensation did not cease. No, here in the waking world it assaulted him ferociously, and an uncomfortable emptiness weighed upon his body and soul. The Veil vibrated but no longer could he hear the song of the Fade, could no longer feel its embrace. Here everything was solid and immobile, resolute and stationary.

As he neared the wards, their magic stirred a tug within his chest.

Weak.

So weak, he thought with dawning horror.

This must be a nightmare. He fell to his knees at his failed endeavor and attempts to remove the wards. Though mana surged within him, it was so little, so much less that he even took notice of such a thing. What once was a simple trick became elaborate and difficult to him with so much as conjuring a simple flame. Puny and meek it engulfed his hand before vanishing and he breathed deeply from the energy it required.

This world…

He pressed on, feverish and desperate now. _Wrong, wrong, wrong,_ voices chanted in his head. Fire and electricity sparked and caught his legs as he moved through the wards, body slowly growing numb. He moved through the winding chambers as his body began to awaken, ignoring the signs of aging and the state of decay around him.

Light. A shaft of it pierced through a crack in the wall. It nearly blinded him with its brilliance but he pressed onwards even with the growing weight bearing down on him.

_What is this_ , he thought, jaw clenched tight. He couldn't remember, the memories fought to reappear, slowly filling him with sights, sounds, voices, and images. It was almost too much and he clutched his head at the assault.

He collapsed to his knees beneath the light, the warmth of the sun bearing down upon his shaking form. His breaths were gasps for answers as the Veil—his magic, his solution, his _mistake_ —suffocated him.

He remembered when he had first seen her in her splendor. Gold and red, radiant and warm, her hand upon his cheek the first physical contact he ever felt. To his knees he fell before her in reverent devotion, begging for her blessing to serve her with this new form for all eternity. New and free for but brief moments in the physical world.

But _this_ world… he did not know what to call it.

A scream of frustration, a sob of despair, and a laugh of humiliation fought to escape him. Though tears fell down his cheeks they gave no comfort and he fought to quell the surging emotions.

Rubble and broken stone lay where the entrance once stood. This too was heavily warded though he passed over them with ease as they sensed his aura. The depiction in the Fade and his own memories merged as one as he gazed throughout the hidden glade.

Spirits wandered nearby, he could feel them. In the Fade they would have approached him but here they kept their distance, skimming along the Veil at a distance.

Not real.

The grass beneath his feet felt real, the sunlight shining onto his face did as well. But it couldn't be, this was not right. The color was gone, the _Fade_ was gone. This was not the world, not _his,_ even if crafted by his own hand, by his hubris.

He wanted to collapse but pressed on even so.

A stream he stumbled upon gave some comfort. The cold water cleared the feeling of eternity from his shoulders as he sat, naked and bare. He bound his hair back but more and more a knot formed in his throat. The man reflected back at him had prided his intelligence to attempt a feat never before done, desperate yet confident to protect the People.

The aftermath had been cataclysmic in the places in between. Screams of alarm from allies and foes had pierced the sundered air. Buildings had toppled, runes had darkened, the sky had warped around itself, threatening to swallow the world whole.

He had watched as spirits were torn apart, ghostly visages extinguished. Others had twisted into demons that hungered for the agony of his people.

His People. They did not comprehend what he had done, not initially. All around them the world had seemed to tear itself apart in a ferocious fervor as the sky had been swallowed and the earth had crumbled.

He had fallen to his knees, exhausted, the orb clutched against his chest. And indeed a short laugh had escaped his lips. Not in maniacal glee but defeat.

None had charged to kill him and reverse it. Caught in the wild cacophony, none had approached his kneeling form, though they knew it was he that had cast the spell.

He had heard _their_ voices, real or illusionary. They had screamed his hubris from their prisons that fell to deaf ears, wailing in the silence in rage. Banging fists and laughing voices had boomed through his mind in rhythmic mayhem.

Hands fisted in his hair, body wrenched forward. He could hear the screams, feel the heat, the tremble of the earth as temples collided with the ground. They died and lived cursing his name, wailing for their masters to save them, calling out into the darkness for light. He had made certain _their_ voices would never reach them beforehand.

More and more hair he crushed in his fists. _Little rebel, too much pride_ , she had said with a mere laugh when he had removed her from his face.

Hair and face hidden when he led the enslaved to his sanctuary, souls enslaved no longer. _Little wolf, with so much pride you ask for trouble_ , she had warned, her laugh more cool, her eyes more curious.

A knife. He searched through his armor for his belt. A dagger kept for emergency, it would do.

He worked fast. The sharp blade cut through the russet strands with ease, the clumps of hair falling into the water. His hand shook but the blade stayed true to its task. Soon nothing but wayward clumps dangled from his scalp and a brief smoothing of a heated hand over his head removed the rest.

Bare. It felt strange as he moved his callous hands over his head. Strange, but it lightened his thoughts a bit. Any remaining strands flowed down the stream into eternity. When he glanced once more at his reflection, he saw a tired man stare back, worn and frustrated.

He saw himself— Pride.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
